What Rough Beast
by Oblivion Correction
Summary: During the Third Holy Grail War, Avenger and his Master slouch toward Fuyuki. [One Shot]


**What Rough Beast  
**

 **11 June 1939, 9:00 AM**

 **German-Polish Border**

It took the combined resources of the Prague ghetto to make the necessary bribes, forge the papers, and secure the information, to get her out of Germany. The wheels clacked, the engine chugged. Light slipped through the wooden slats lining the train car. Even all that only got her as far as the Polish border, which she now sped toward. After that, she was on her own. Sasha slept where she could. Conserved energy. Good skill, being able to grab sleep anywhere. Once she hit the Polish border, she had to hitch illicit rides where she could until she hit Danzig.

So, how's my little Judahite feeling today? Hunger setting in?

"I told you to stop calling me that."

That was a perfectly respectable name to call someone in my day. In fact, I knew a Joseph of Judea quite well.

"This is not your time, Avenger."

Ha! Alas and alack. Well, maybe not for the children of Israel. But there's never really been a happy time for your unlucky tribe, eh?

"Are you done yet?"

Not quite, but it's really hard when you're stonewalling everything. But you do look hungry.

"I need to make my supplies last. I can't afford to eat a regular diet."

I could just take something. Avenger materialized before her, scars worn bare and proud over the red cloth wrapped around his waist.

"'Thou shalt not steal.' It's pretty clear-cut."

As a matter of fact, I thumbed through your holy book a couple times.

"It has a name, Avenger."

'Men do not despise a thief, if he steal to satisfy his soul when he is hungry.' Proverbs 6:30. Boom.

"As I recall, that line is making a point about adultery, not giving you free license to steal food if you're feeling peckish."

So much harder to argue with Pharisees who actually read their magic books. Avenger shrugged, then did a twirl around the train car.

"I'm trying to rest. Is it possible for you to be quiet for five minutes?"

Fine. If that's an order from my _master_.

 **13 June 1939, 6:00 PM**

 **Road to Grodkow**

Ah, my little daughter of Israel. It's kind of adorable how she sneaks and runs. When the train pulled into the border station, she wisely skipped town - and scurried under train cars, slipped between patrols like a shadow. Ah, if only she had been born in my age: she could have been a heroic spirit. Perhaps a legendary thief, or an assassin! Or - perhaps not. If she had been in ancient times, she would never have been allowed to hold a blade or venture forth to conquer. I remained a spirit, floating by her side, telling her when to run and when to hide. When we finally got out of the train yard, it was a long walk to Danzig.

She started slowing down a few miles down the road. Shall I describe my Master? She's dark-haired. Coal-black, cropped boyishly short. Wrapped up in a bomber jacket and a heavy shirt, cargo pants, she's every bit the young man going on a ramble. Her face betrays that sharp instinct that lurks beneath a calm surface, with dark eyes - so very dark, so inscrutable, so full of determination in the face of a thousand evils! A messenger bag hung from her shoulder, banging on her thigh with every step. Ah, if only I could be that messenger bag…!

Ah, but I would love to break her. Sadly, under her glove lurk the command seals. It'll have to wait. I manifest, and walk beside her.

Hungry?

"I'm going to use one of these command seals to make you shut up."

Cold! But I'd recommend saving those. I told you, I'm a fifth rate servant, and those could be useful on the fields of battle.

I caught her when she stumbled. Her boot caught a stone. A yelp escaped her as I grabbed her. The most awkward of pauses - pretty low-ranking as far as all the world's evils goes, but it's right there burned onto my right buttock.

"Thanks."

Anything for my sweet master.

"But get your hand off my ass."

I chuckled deep in my throat. She sat down under an oak tree by the side of the country road, reaching into her bag for a loaf of bread wrapped in paper and a canteen. Yes, she was supposed to ration it, but you know when she gets lost in thought she can just chew through anything. Besides! She's come so far, she's earned a snack, right? I climbed up a tree while she burned through her provisions. Town not far to the north. A plume of smoke rose from it. Interesting. No sign of attack, so Germany has not yet chosen to set the world on fire. Whatever could it be?

When I jumped down, Sasha hit me with a truly murderous stare. Easy, Master! Don't kill me before we even see a single foe!

She folded up the paper and put it away. Slid the canteen into its pocket. So conscientious, my master, she doesn't even pollute the earth - littering is carved on my ankle, by the way.

 **14 June 1939, 4 AM**

 **Grodkow, Poland**

The fires still burned, when Sasha arrived. She sank down to her knees, bag sliding from her shoulder to hit the ground. The Grodkow ghetto burned. The blood still flowed into the gutters. The streets were barren. The killers had already fled. The survivors had gone to ground.

She was alone.

Part of her said to look for supplies anyway, but she knew the savages had already stolen everything. She walked a ghost through the streets, looking in deserted houses and shops, at the stripped and broken shelves, at the desecrated and graffiti'd temple. She collapsed to sit on the street corner, eyes staring through space. She fought it, yes. She did everything she could to stop from going back there. She cradled herself, rocking back and forth. Sasha ran away, deep inside, or tried.

Damn! Bad luck. Avenger squatted across the street from her. Why is he smiling? You get away from the German anti-semites, only to meet the Polish ones. It's almost like we're cursed.

"Don't you have a single shred of decency?" Sasha stared right through him.

Nope. I don't feel a mote of sympathy for these people.

"I hate you."

Good. Hate me. It's better than despair. Despair is the most useless and boring emotion. Hate! Now there's something we can use. Hate me. Hate your enemies. They sure hate you.

She took a deep breath. Courage gathered in her gut. "No, you've made a liar of me. I won't hate. I won't even hate scum like you."

You say that and then you lie and lie. You hate this whole moronic situation that the human race is now in. You hate the Nazis. You hate the volk nationalists. You hate your inferior and callous servant. That's good. Not one soul in the world could begrudge you your hate.

"Is there a reason for your lectures or do you just like pissing me off?"

Nah. I just really want to win. And frankly, you're all but useless now. You're weepy. You're determined, but you're not willing to get your hands dirty.

"Shut up, or I'm using a command seal."

He laughed, his hyena howl echoing down the street. You're serious! You would! And then he vanished, laughing all the while; he laughed at her, he laughed at the suffering of Europe's Jewry, he laughed and mankind. And how she hated - but all the same, she climbed to her feet.

 **17 June 1939, 9:00 PM**

 **Road to Danzig**

By my estimate it was a two-week walk to Danzig. Any longer and she'd miss her boat. Then it would be another two weeks to wait for another tanker to Japan. Two weeks she could ill afford, a fugitive and border-hopper in a country on the edge of war. Sure, Danzig's ghetto could hide her, but thinking about that now is kinda useless. She has an evil gait to her step. She wobbled with each stride forward. I had to argue with her to get her to take a drink of water from an unattended well - hell, I even refilled her canteen without her noticing. Sleep's a stranger to her.

Shit. She's really gonna die before we reach Danzig, and I still need her. Yes, seeing her slowly die of exposure and starvation is fun, but it's nothing compared to what'll happen to her during the Grail War. Her hair's grown out a bit. Looks nice. A little wild, how it comes down into her eyes.

I appeared before her, holding a pilfered apple. I took a long, sumptuous bite. It's real good, Master~

She just stared at the apple, eyes bloodshot and heavily-lidded.

Come on, take a bite. Right, not hygienic. I'll get another.

But she walked past me, eyes fixed dead ahead. We could just make out the smokestacks of Danzig's factories in the distance. She was no good to me dead. I walked by her side, eating my apple.

Look, you starve out here and everything you saw would be in vain.

No answer.

Look, I took it from an orchard. There's no way the farmer is ever going to feel one missing apple.

She turned her head to me, and stared with the eyes of a woman in the grip of a madness. "Thou shalt not steal."

I sorta felt like punching her. Yeah, and you shalt not kill. It's clear-cut, like you said. But you're marching off to a Grail War. You really think you're going to get through that without killing anybody?

She started to mutter something. Maybe a prayer, but I never learned the language of the Judahites. But I gotta say, she walked. Every time she stumbled she just caught her footing and kept walking. I'd heard of hermits performing superhuman leaps - living on mountaintops without food or water - and yogis sleeping on beds of nails, or lifting boulders, or indulging in extreme deprivation. She had a little of the old holy madness in her, what the priests called the Touch of God.

 **18 June 1939, 1:00 PM**

 **Danzig**

The Elders of Danzig had received her master's letter. Sasha sat before Lev, an middle-aged rabbi, hands on her knees, eyes staring dead ahead. Avenger's spirit hung over her shoulders, running around her neck like a noose. The elder sighed. "Sent all this way for a magic cup we're not supposed to believe in." They were in his home, in an upstairs study. Books lined the shelves - holy books, commentaries, yes, but also books of science, history, and even sheet music. Sasha barely registered them.

Sasha looked at him. No answer passed through those cracked lips.

"I'll go around and see what I can scare up for you. You know, Sasha… you could still turn back."

"Not anymore."

"This is an ugly business these magi have called up."

"I agree."

"And this war…" The Rabbi stood, going to a cabinet. "I fear for you."

"You think I'll die?"

"Very probably. And even so… this sort of thing, no one ever truly walks away from it. You may die in spirit."

"I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

"Easily said. But saying you win, or just survive… are you prepared to endure a lifetime of that kind of suffering?" He pulled a parcel out a cabinet. "You've endured much to get here. But I think you will find that there's always much more evil in the world than you think… 'At least it can't be any worse' is a contradiction in terms."

Ha! I like this guy!

"Take for example, that spirit floating around you. Why don't you show yourself?"

Sasha gave Avenger a grim stare as he manifested in a swirl of mana. He was a living anachronism, ritually scarred and wrapped in rags, standing in a modern study. The Rabbi sighed as he dropped the parcel in front of Sasha. She could already tell there was food inside. Her stomach tightened, a pang that sent a shudder through her. Hesitating fingers reached out for it. "My wife made that lunch for me. Enjoy it, you need it far more than I. As to your friend…"

Yo.

"You're a heroic spirit, yes?"

Well, the Grail called me forth. So obviously I must be a heroic spirit of a noble and just character.

The old man grimaced. Sasha unwrapped the man's lunch. It was freely given. There was no reason not to eat it. At the edge of her mind she noticed her tongue running over her lips.

"Yes, obviously, a heroic spirit. And you… just wandered into the Prague ghetto, yes?"

Yep.

"And told this absurd tale of a Grail War in the East, that the winner receives… a wish from a magical chalice?"

That's just about right. You sound skeptical of the magic cup. How could you possibly doubt that magi built a wish-granting machine in a small Japanese city?

"But this… so-called ritual… this human sacrifice it requires. It's contrary to Biblical law."

Look, I didn't build the Grail system. I just got summoned and kicked out by my first master before I met your friends in Prague. I want the magic cup. You know the Nazis want the cup too, and you can bet all your holy books that if they do, it will go _very_ poorly for you.

"Tsk. Sasha, is he always like this?"

"More or less." When she opened her mouth, she couldn't fight it any more. She ripped into the bread, tearing off hunks with her teeth like a wild dog. She felt Avenger staring at her lips with that devilish grin, but she hardly cared. "But he's right. If we don't get the Grail, Hitler might." She barely looked up from her food, her prey, as she shredded it.

"And what would you ask of the Grail?"

That made her pause in her eating.

"That's what I thought. And you, spirit?"

I want to be like King Solomon.

"Solomon?"

Kings 11:3. He had a thousand wives and concubines, gyahahaha!

"And as I recall, they led him to sin and to worship false gods."

What, are you saying you _don't_ want to be led into sin and depravity by a thousand exotic beauties?

He shook his head. "This is quite a piece of work you've found, Sasha."

"You don't need to tell me that." Sasha stared down at where her meal had been. Only crumbs now. "I understand, Rabbi. I know what I'm getting into. I'm prepared to make any sacrifice for Europe's Jewry. I know my Servant here is a third-rate creature and a degenerate to boot, but he's what I have. I have naught but faith in the Lord and my own will to guide my path."

"I see that." Lev studied the creases on his palm. "But…"

"But?"

"I fear that if this Servant of yours gets his wish, it will be even worse than if Hitler gets his."

Harsh!

When Sasha left, she made it a few steps before clapping her hands to her mouth. Her vision swam. Her belly rebelled. Gorge rose in her throat. She sprinted to the bathroom. She just barely made it before the vomit escaped her gut, coughing up her lunch. Avenger hovered over her, pulling her hair back from her face. I would have warned you not to eat like that after nearly starving, but… you know... you never listen.

 **19 June 1939, 1:00 AM**

 **Danzig Port**

My master - she is childlike, weaving between the stacked shipping containers, valleys of industrial goods leaving Poland's ports for parts unknown. Well, not quite unknown - the _Isadora_ is headed to Yokohama, and from Yokohama it's one train to Fuyuki. Oh, but it's _adorable_ how she slips through the port, out toward the docks where the freighters sleep in a long row, waiting for the day begin. The cranes work all night, lifting crates aboard. A few stevedores hauled and granted, thick-set men with lives of their own - it was so tempting to give one an invisible push and send them into the drink, but Sasha might actually use a command seal on me.

She thought I didn't notice her pale cheeks, or the sweat that beaded on a feverish brow.

Sasha hopped a fence to get in. She never noticed we'd been followed - by a man who took her exact route, a long-coated man with a broad-brimmed hat that shadowed his face beautifully beneath the sickle moon. A faceless shadow chased us - and I wanted to see what happened.

He caught us as Sasha made her way down a deserted pier. Dark wars flowed and whispered around us. "Stop right there." Going by the accent… a Pole, not a German.

Sasha froze, lovely dawning horror on her face, described by her wide eyes, her raised brow. The color had drained out of her - but then, she had none to lose. She raised her arms.

"I thought I recognized you. You're wanted in Germany. A border-hopper."

Sasha scowled. Her back was still turned to him. The pistol shot would kill her. Come on, master. This man is nothing… I could dispose of him in a second. Her scowl deepened.

He walked down the pier to her, groping in his jacket for a pair of handcuffs. You're really going to let this guy take you in? Oh, she tried to think of some way out of it. I could see it on her face. Some command she could give that would keep her hands clean. But even with those knives of hers, she couldn't beat the trigger pull on a revolver. When he grabbed her arm, she gave up. She surrendered. Her expression right then… on Sasha Jordan, I love you! I would marry you and offer up to you every torment and every delight this blighted earth has to offer! You could be the head of all my wives, commanding them with a single wave of your calloused hand. If only you could be broken inside properly, twisted and gorged on curses… and then, how your belly would swell with the sons of a devil!

"Avenger! Stop him, but-"

I didn't give her a chance to finish. I manifested beside him. As she shaped the 'don't kill him' part of the clause, I struck. Zawrich slashed his windpipe so he couldn't scream. Tawrich ripped into his gut. He didn't even have time to be surprised before he went down, revolver spiraling away into the waters.

Sasha sank down to her knees. She sweated freely, taking fast, shallow breaths.

I stopped him, master! Are you proud? I worked Tawrich free of his entrails.

"Just… finish him…"

Really? No self-righteous quotations? No Ten Commandments?

"Stop questioning me and kill him!"

Bastard still had the strength to try and crawl away, neck whistling for help all the way. I threw Tawrich into his back. Went straight through the spine and pierced his heart. When I drew it away, he was gone. Don't feel too bad, Master. He made his living by selling people out to Nazis. I don't think God will be too mad at you for ordering me to kill him.

"I… I didn't order you to…"

Oh, yes you did. Don't lie. I did some whistling of my own as I wrapped his body up in some chains lying on the pier. You knew what would happen when you gave that order. I gave him a swift kick and dropped him into the water. By the time he floated up or they fished him out, we'd be in the Arctic Ocean. Then my master feel. She fell forward, grabbing fast shallow breaths as she lay on the pier. Who blames the dog when his master gave the word to attack?

Again, she's no good to me dead. I rolled her on her back. She had no injuries, besides a bruise from where she fell. She sucked in fast breaths; her arms and legs trembled. I pressed my brow to hers. Yeah, that's a hell of a fever. I scooped her up in my arms. Maybe one of the stevedores saw a shadow leap from the pier to the _Isadora_ 's prow; maybe they even came over with a flashlight to cast around confused glances. Maybe they even mentioned seeing a creature of the sea to drunken listeners at the tavern; but we were gone, my Master safely nestled down in the hold.

I stole some sheets out of the shipboard laundry to wrap her in. Poured water between her lips from the canteen. Now, to see if disease kills her before the Grail does. I hope she lives. She's mine, you know.

 **21 June 1939, 3:00 PM**

 **Arctic Ocean**

The world shook. Heaven and earth rocked and rolled as the world quivered beneath her. Sasha stared out a swimming world, where all form had collapsed into a merging haze. A figure loomed over her, but he was not a man or any manner of human being. He was a living shadow, a mass of darkness. Devils swirled him, red dogs that slobbered from flesh-tearing bone-crunching fangs. She wanted to scream, but no scream would come from a swollen throat. He had wrapped her up tight, this abomination, and she could not move even if aching muscles could muster their strength. Sometimes she burned, a sweat poured from her furrowed brow; sometimes she froze, and the blankets wrapped around her offered no warmth. And always, always, the devil loomed over her, forcing things into her mouth.

When she sank into unconsciousness, she saw things, and did not know whether they were real or dreams. A man, not much more than a boy, lay chained down on a stone slab. They burned him. He howled and screamed until his throat went raw and could scream no more, and he could only quiver as they painted more evil in his blood, a heart still beating that ached to die.

She saw a chalice, vomiting forth a corroding mud.

She saw an angel descend over her impromptu bed. The devil remained blind to it, kneeling over her body as the messenger reached down and, with the gentleness of a benediction, tapped her forehead. Its six wings extended, and she realized death had come for her. She would die here, before she fought even a single foe.

The devil drew a pin and jabbed her arm. Sasha gave a gasp and a shudder, and the harvesting angel left her. Her head lolled back. The devil loomed over her, and spoke, but she got none of it.

She dreamed of a pit in a hidden basement, squirming with living evil. Two old men surveyed it. The older said, "You magi repulse me."

But always it returned to the boy on the mountain, plunged into a living hell. She reached out for him. She wanted to reach across space and break his chains, free him from a torture that tainted both body and spirit. God, please, if you grant any wish, grant this one: spare this one boy, your child. But God did not come. The dream faded, the boy unrescued. Torment would continue into eternity, and…

When she woke up, tears mixed with the sweat on her cheek. Avenger sat against a packing crate, opposite her. Between them were strewn the fruits of his labor: shredded food wrappers, used sheets that she soaked through, an open first aid kit, its contents scattered on the ground. A used needle lay on the floor; she thought vaguely back to when he drove a needle into her arm, dispelling the angel of death. He saved her?

"Are… are we there yet?" she gasped, finally, forcing the words up through her parched throat.

Finally awake? He met her gaze. Just about.

"How… how long has it been?"

A couple weeks. You had me scared for a bit. Avenger worked a crick out of his neck with a soft pop. Even if I ate the crew, I wouldn't have enough mana to last me to Japan.

"You're disgusting." And yet, the words came out hollow and weak. She remembered the boy on the slab. Sasha struggled, briefly, to get out of her blanket.

Easy there. You're not good to move.

"I… I have to get to Fuyuki."

Avenger came and unwrapped her, carefully unfolding her. A blush spread across her; apparently he had her down to her panties under the cloth. He smirked. "What? You soaked your clothes through."

"What happened to me?"

Avenger helped her pull on her shirt. Some kind of fever. Probably picked it up when you were weak from hunger. It was just about a coinflip whether you lived or died.

"I guess I have you to thank for that… thanks."

Don't thank me yet. Why, you'll be back to spitting venom in no time! When she was dressed, he helped her up, letting her hang off his shoulder. "We should make a quick exit. The crew has gotten a little paranoid about all the stuff I stole. All to save you… Master." He lifted her up, carrying her as she clung to his shoulder. They moved through the valleys of stacked crates, leaping up out of the hold. They passed a few sailors, who felt nothing but a cold gust and saw but a moving shadow. He carried her on and up, out of the holding, out of the choking, dank air and out of the dark. Up the ship, climbing the bridge tower, up along the rigging of metal wires. The landed on the topmost tower, and around her a brilliant day rang out, a blue sea made golden by the light of the sun. And, ahead of them, an expanse of shoreline, a town with a port.

"Fuyuki," she gasped, holding him tight.

The Grail, he replied.

Sasha drank in the sight, strength returning to her limbs. She shook herself free, and staggered forward on her own power. Fuyuki. The city of all of Jewry's hopes. She staggered, and he caught her.

But before we massacre the enemy Servants and take the Grail, you need a real doctor, he said. Sasha looked down to the metal roof they stood on. If he did all this, then…

"I'm sorry for what happened to you."

For what? You? You are up there for the worst masters ever.

"No… when you were alive."

He let that hang in the sea air for a while.

"For whatever it's worth. I understand."

You don't understand shit. Avenger sat her down before stepping away, pacing circles around her as the _Isadora_ pulled into port. He took a deep breath. But no one has ever once said they were sorry for it. He gave her a sidelong glance. Not one person ever thanked me for anything.

She coughed into her hand. "I'm… I don't understand, you're right. But… maybe I can, if you let me."

It's bad for Masters to care about their Servants too much. He shrugs. But if you're going to be foolish… He sat down next to her. The Grail would be a fine consolation prize.


End file.
